


Arrogance

by Sir Elliot (SirElliot)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Occlumency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirElliot/pseuds/Sir%20Elliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another look at Occlumency lessons. Perhaps if Severus Snape had been a little quicker to admit his own sins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrogance

My life flashed before my eyes.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Potter’s life flashed before my eyes.

Our minds finally separated, and we stood there panting, still staring into each other’s eyes. His eyes were green, like Lily’s had been, but somehow, they seemed older. Older and infinitely more weary than I’d ever seen hers, even in the height of the war.

I didn’t want to speculate why. Not now, not when I’d seen how closely the boy’s life had mimicked my own.

“What was that?” I finally managed, words coming out in short gasps.

“My relatives,” the boy said sullenly. He was looking at the floor now, a dark red lingering on his cheeks.

“Are they always like that?” I asked him, even though I already knew the answer. Yes.

“Yes,” he echoed, thankfully no longer aware of my thoughts.

“How loathsome,” I said honestly, and he looked up at me in surprise. Somehow, even amidst all this, a smirk found its way onto his lips.

“Yeah,” he said. He was more confident now, standing taller. His messy black hair seemed less egregious in the flickering torchlight, and I realized with sudden clarity that although he shared many superficial traits with his blasted father, most of his facial structure was all Lily. He had her same pert nose, and slightly rounded face. How had I never noticed before?

“Sir?” Potter asked uncertainly.

I continued staring at him, drinking in every last bit of his face, the only thing of Lily left alive.

He looked utterly bewildered now, taken aback at my staring. Or perhaps the fact that I was lacking my usual scowl. Sharing a mind with another was a rather intimate endeavour, and I found I couldn’t quite rouse the usual hatred I felt when I looked at him.

“Sir?” he asked again, a little desperately.

I was loathe to break this utterly tranquil moment. My own incredulity, Potter’s blank confusion.

“Prepare yourself,” I told him, but this time I didn’t shout it as I had before.

He nodded firmly, and I could see his jaw muscles clench as he braced himself. I found myself delaying again. The last thing I wanted to do was delve back into that mind, back into his memories that reminded me so much of my own childhood. As I saw past what I’d always thought of as arrogance into the dark, lonely cupboard that still haunted the boy to this day. Not arrogance. Desperation, perhaps. The desire to fit in, the desire to escape his past. How could I have not recognized it? I had been the exact same way. One of the many reasons James Potter had fixated on me so. Arrogant in the same way Potter’s son was now. Not arrogant like Potter himself had been, brash confidence in himself and the firm belief that the world would bend itself to his will. Merlin, all these years…

Our minds met, more softly this time. He was more wary, and I more tentative, dreading what I would find this time.

Aching, soul-crushing loneliness. But was it my own or the boy’s?

“Professor,” he whispered, and I was amazed at his ability to form words at this moment.

The never-ending darkness, the feeling of spiders traipsing across my skin. Taking comfort in the only non-malevolent touch I’d felt in weeks.

Running, always running. I knew what would happen if I were caught. The pain that would follow even one misstep, even a second of indecision…

Jealousy, fierce like no other. Always watching from the shadows. Only ever seeing loving looks from afar, from the side. Watching him bask in the positive attention, forever undeserved. My stomach twisting and turning in grief, mourning the loss of something I’d never had.

Our minds separated forcefully. Once again, I stopped to catch my breath.

“Your parents loved you more than anything,” I told him, unbidden. The words sprang out of me, as if they had a life of their own. As if they knew they needed to be said, and weren’t going to wait for me to say them.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at me with wide eyes. Embarrassment colored his cheeks and, quite frankly, he looked desperately uncomfortable.

“I saw you once, after you were born. Lily had taken you to the apothecary. We didn’t speak, but I saw the way she doted on you. She loved you like nothing else.”

The boy had tears in his eyes now, unshed and gleaming.

“I’m sorry,” I finally told him, after another long silence.

The boy looked broken, now. I was starting to realize he didn’t hear that very much. Ironic, considering how often he was wronged.

“Will you tell anyone?” he finally whispered.

I considered him for a moment, before deciding he was likely referring to his upbringing, not the fact that his parents had loved him.

“I rather think not,” I responded steadily. It was not my business to tell, and it would certainly be hypocritical to use such a thing against him.

I told him as such, and surprise only briefly flashed over his face before he nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, and he smiled tentatively at me.

Something flashed through me. I think it felt like hope.

 

 


End file.
